Dear Diary,
The night embraces the moonless dim in a quite way. I should be sleeping but I am fighting to suspend my ego and let my writer find her light. My fingers are playing pens as the soul tries to adjust to a less rigid mode. The voices in my head are unifying themselves into a singular reflective tone and their echos can be heard bouncing back as clear words. Possible sentences.
T (my psychiatrist) says I have been and still am tense. This has got me thinking of getting myself a massage. Of pampering myself. Of finally being able to enjoy the tranquility that such places comes with. But then again. Doesn't that involve strange spaces with customised strangers who come with ready knuckles that knead tension out of you? Doesn't it also involve nudity? My sharing this doubtful skin with the earlier mentioned knuckles?
The smooth stones laid in a perfect line on the backs of people who have not only braved the spas and the masseurs but have gone the extra mile of taking photos of their 'naked hides' flooding Google images are appealing but...
This body is mine. It is also the unfortunate vault to my pain. It has been mine alone for a while now. That decision had been made to heal some invisible wounds but then time just flew by. I trace the visible scars on the nights I can't sleep to remind myself why I deserve to. I reminisce on the naivety it took to have them curved here. The hopeful wishing of encountering change while turning a blind eye right at what needed to be changed. When the memories drag in the neglected pain, I shut down.
How am I then supposed to enjoy strange hands unearthing the hidden vestiges of a decade long abuse?
Blame it on this self awareness journey. In my finding myself, I think I have completely forgotten myself. The delicate parts. The sauce of my essence. I have unremembered to be comfortable here. And where would I even go if I become a misfit in my own house? In my own garden?
A few wise birds keep singing that I be myself as everyone else is taken. I hear them but my inner critic long brainwashed me. If only these words can move in with my mind. My soul even. Perhaps I might quit being this person. The person who knows what is right but still continues to insist on straying from truth to later overwhelm themselves emotionally.
You should see me trying to validate these trauma responses. Sigh. I defend myself for overly taking care of the rest of my circle then completely forgetting I exist. I overlap my appropriate NOs with some quick Yeses to almost everything even when I am aware the best answer should be NO. My boundaries blur. One's dignity or pride flies out a window. And that stamps on one's self preservation and one becomes an emotional slave.
Currently, I am working on how to reoccupy my space boldly. To explore beyond the horizons of my comfort. If I ever embody the act of not looking for past in my future, I would be over the moon. That equates to freedom to me. I am finding me... Speaking of finding myself, I should allow rest to consume my tired being. Talk soon ♡
wambuku w.